


From the Ashes

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Boys In Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-War, Top Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: When he goes for a run on the night of his birthday, Harry stumbles across a bar he's sure he hasn't seen before. A bar with rainbow flags above the door, and a very familiar patron that supposedly died during the war.





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Snape Potter](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/)'s Happy Birthday Harry 2017 challenge. All mistakes my own. The quote at the beginning is from the X Ambassadors song 'Unsteady.'

_Mama, come here_   
_Approach, appear_   
_Daddy, I’m alone_   
_'Cause this house don’t feel like home_

_If you love me, don’t let go_   
_Hold on to me_   
_Cause I’m a little unsteady_

The skies are restless and even the stars hide behind the clouds which spit out rain in fat drops. The droplets are cold against Harry’s skin and he tips his head back to taste the rain against his lips as he slows to a steady walk. The Muggle streetlamps cast their dim yellow glow over slick pavements and Harry’s footfall makes splashing sounds in the puddles. He turns up the volume on his Muggle phone and listens to the music which thrums through his body as he eases into a run again. The air fills his lungs, cool and sharp and his heart races. He can hear Molly Weasley’s voice in his head as the rain soaks through his cotton t-shirt.

_You’ll catch your death, Harry_

Sometimes he wonders if perhaps he already has. It’s such a strange turn of phrase. It makes Harry think about dark shadows on the walls of Grimmauld Place and how for the last few months, running in the rain has been the one thing that makes him feel alive. Harry wipes the rain from his eyes and changes the song. The last one was something about love and loss. Harry doesn’t want to run to power ballads. He wants to race through the streets until it hurts to breathe and his legs turn numb, his fingers icy from the cold.

He finds a song that suits his mood, with angry guitars and plaintive vocals. He ducks his head and catches his breath before he starts to run again. He doesn’t notice when the time on his phone flicks past midnight. He pays no attention to the people who give him strange looks as he races past them, completely inappropriately dressed for the time of night and the stormy weather. He feels free. Free from the thoughts that roll through his head when he has too much time to himself.

When he’s thoroughly exhausted, Harry stops outside a small bar that makes him wonder if he's taken a wrong turn. The bar has a couple of rainbow flags above the door and some people are smoking cigarettes outside. One of the girls reminds him a bit of Tonks, with the same bright pink hair she favoured on occasion. Harry watches them curiously and they stare back at him. It’s not typical to find bars on his run and he’s sure he’s been down this street many times before without noticing anything. He looks around for a street sign but he can’t see anything other than a large glass building in the distance which looks familiar. This is definitely the same route he usually takes. 

“Are you lost?” The girl looks knowing and she winks at one of the men as if they're in on the same secret. “Fancy a smoke?”

“No, thanks.” Harry shakes his head.

“You look a bit…wet.” One of the men gives Harry a look up and down. It sets something unfamiliar fluttering in Harry’s chest and heat creeps up his neck, into his cheeks. 

“Just a bit.” Harry pulls out his earphones and glances at his phone, switching off the music. His lips curve when he sees the time. “It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” The man extends his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.” Harry takes a breath when the man’s hand lingers a touch too long. It’s warm and firm against his cold skin. “Harry Potter.”

“Blimey. Who would have thought?” The name is clearly familiar which makes Harry think the bar must be wizarding. It would be too much of a coincidence to bump into a wizard outside a Muggle bar. “Happy birthday, Harry Potter.” The man grins. “Can I buy you a drink?” He gives Harry another predatory look and licks his lips. “Or would you like a different kind of birthday treat?”

Harry swallows, his heart still hammering in his chest. He’s not sure it’s from running anymore. “I’m good, I think.” He knows his voice wavers because the man looks amused. “I’ll just go inside. Maybe dry off a bit.”

“You do that.” The man gives him a wink. “I’ll be around later if you fancy that present, _Harry_.”

The way he says Harry’s name sounds filthy. It sends a shiver through Harry’s body which he’s positive isn’t from the cold. He steps inside the small bar and it doesn’t escape his notice that people are definitely paying attention to him. _Men_ are paying attention to him. For the first time, he doesn’t think it’s got anything to do with his scar. He leans against the bar and orders a bottle of beer, looking around. The bar is lit by candles which hang from the ceilings, suspended in the air by magic. There’s music too – although Harry can’t see anything playing the tunes which fill the air. A handful of people move on the dance floor and there’s a warm energy in the place which makes Harry feel instantly at home.

“I’m glad to see you made it to twenty.” 

Harry freezes. He knows that voice. He would recognise the velvet-smooth tones anywhere and he can almost picture the dusty classroom and the sneer from Severus Snape when he poked his nose into one of Harry’s potions. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard since the end of the war, when his hands were sticky with blood and grime.

_Look at me_.

“More lives than a cat, me.” Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s a weird night, that’s all. A weird night full of storm clouds. Like one of those dreams when he’s standing in the rain outside Godric’s Hollow and the air smells like thunder. When he wakes up he’ll still be pounding lonely streets and listening to another one of his Muggle songs. “You’re dead.”

“Not exactly.” Snape sounds amused. His breath is warm on Harry’s neck. “Do I feel dead?”

“No,” Harry manages. His voice is a bit croaky. Snape doesn’t feel dead. He feels warm and solid and he’s still breathing down Harry’s neck like an overgrown bat. His hand brushes Harry’s side and it sends sparks of pleasure along Harry’s damp skin.

“I’d suggest you should get out of those wet clothes, but I do hate to be a cliché.”

Harry laughs, but it comes out slightly shaky. He still can’t bring himself to turn around because he doesn’t have many good dreams and this is one he wants to hold onto for as long as possible. “I’ve been jogging.”

“I can see that.” Snape’s breath tickles Harry’s ear. “Not many people come out for a drink soaking wet, dressed in shorts.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry mutters.

“I didn’t say I was disappointed.” Snape’s voice is low and firm. “What brings you to this bar, of all places?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it before.” 

“Ah.” Snape hums, thoughtfully. “It’s magically charmed. You could say it finds people when they’re most in need of it.”

“Do I need it?” Harry doesn’t know what he needs, anymore. There’s one Muggle song that features heavily on his jogging playlist. The one about two men snogging. The song that he puts on repeat as he imagines a dark, shadowy figure that he always refuses to name. He knows who it is, though. He’s always known.

“You clearly need something, if you’re here.” Snape huffs a low laugh. “Am I going to be forced to speak to your left ear all night, Potter?”

“No.” Harry takes a breath and he turns. “You’re not.”

“Much better.” Snape gives Harry a quick look up and down. His lips curve into a half smile and he tips his drink in Harry’s direction. “Happy birthday, Mister Potter.”

“How do you know it’s my birthday?” Harry gives Snape the once over. He looks good in his black jumper and dark grey Muggle trousers, which fit him sinfully well. He doesn’t look like a ghost and he appears to have lost the pale, sickly pallor Harry remembers from Hogwarts.

“Because _The Prophet_ ran a two-page feature extolling your many virtues to celebrate the happy occasion.” Snape takes a sip of his drink and he sounds amused. “You might be surprised by the things I remember.”

“Oh.” Heat rises in Harry’s cheeks. He remembers his last words over Snape’s body. The desperate way he clung to Snape’s hand and the wet kisses he pressed against Snape’s cheek, his lips damp with tears. 

_Please don’t die. Not when I haven’t told you how much I need you. Not before I get to say thank you, properly. Let me take you for dinner or something. We’ll both survive this and there’ll be a time when you won’t think I’m young and stupid and we can be friends, or…I’ll chop a thousand flobberworms. Just please, please don’t die._

“I wish to be clear about something.” Severus puts his bottle on the bar and he leans against it, all long-limbed and lithe as he gives Harry a dark stare. “I never thought you were young and stupid. I believe _young_ is something you never had the chance to be.”

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat. He forces a smile. “What about stupid?”

“Oh, I suspect there’ll always be an element of Gryffindor idiocy.” Snape smirks. “Am I wrong?”

“Nope.” Harry nods to the door. “That bloke outside offered to give me a birthday present.”

Snape’s eyebrows raise and his lips twitch. “Did he, indeed?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s heart stutters in his chest. He doesn’t feel so cold anymore. He feels warm and a bit bold and dizzy. “He did.”

“And did you take him up on his offer?” Snape reaches for Harry, one of his long fingers brushing the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. “Generous as it was?”

“No.” Harry sucks in a breath, edging closer to Snape. “I said I might see him later.”

“Is that something you desire?” Snape’s fingers settle against Harry’s stomach, his gaze fierce. “A quick birthday blowjob in the bathroom?”

“Depends who’s offering.” Harry manages to get his words out although it’s damned difficult with Snape touching him like that. His fingers are like fire against Harry’s skin. It’s been so long since he’s been kissed or touched. He didn’t think he wanted it, after a few lackluster kisses with witches left him cold and empty. He didn’t realise he’d been looking for those kisses in the wrong places.

“That’s not the kind of offer you can expect from me.” Snape sniffs and removes his hand from Harry’s stomach. He gestures to the barman and orders them both a glass of something which looks like whiskey. 

“Oh.” Harry’s hope fades away and he shrugs, focusing on a spot on the bar. Embarrassment floods through him. He can’t believe he just propositioned Severus Snape, only to be rejected. A wave of disappointment crashes over him and he struggles to find the words to fill the awkward silence hanging between them. “That’s a pity.”

“Indeed.” Snape shifts closer to Harry and he turns his head so his breath ghosts over Harry’s ear. “I’m not particularly fond of getting on my knees in these bathrooms. Considering this establishment is owned by wizards, you would be amazed by the woeful cleaning standards.”

The gnawing embarrassment fades a little, replaced by a small shoot of hope which Harry hardly dares to let flourish. He gathers his courage again and leans into Snape, taking strength from the light press of Snape’s palm against the base of his spine. “What about birthday presents in general?”

“I’m not really available for one-off favours.” Snape’s lips brush Harry’s neck and his voice is a low, rough murmur which slides through Harry’s veins. Even the lightest touch of Snape’s lips makes Harry shiver with anticipation. “Not when I’ve been waiting several years for a particular someone to stumble across this bar on his birthday.”

Harry sucks in a breath and he turns to face Snape. They’re so close if Harry tilted his head just so… “That’s a dangerous game. You could have just come to see that _particular someone_. Let them take you for dinner, like they offered. Let them know you were alive instead of making them mourn for you.”

Snape watches Harry. “Perhaps.”

A flush of anger courses through Harry and he presses his fingers against Snape’s chest. “Definitely. I lost too many people that night. Did you ever think I might have needed you – I might have _wanted_ you – to be alive?”

“I may have held a foolish hope that words spoken to a dying man who was never expected to hear them held a grain of truth.” Snape looks away. “I haven’t been watching you from afar, taking pleasure in your misery if that’s what you imagine.”

“Well if you need an update I _am_ miserable.” Harry takes a sip of his whiskey and pulls a face. “I don’t have a job anymore and I’m running in the rain at midnight. On my bloody birthday.”

“So I see.” Snape’s lips twitch. He fingers his glass. “I’m sorry if my being alive has made the evening even more unpalatable.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me say I’m happy to see you. I’m trying to be angry.”

“Is it working?” Snape arches an eyebrow.

“Dunno.” Harry deflates and he frowns into his drink. “Not really. It’s a bit too cheerful in here to be angry.”

“Isn’t it nauseating?” Snape presses closer to Harry, their shoulders brushing. “Not my usual sort of thing.”

“More dungeons and Knockturn Alley taverns, I bet.” Harry sighs. There’s no sharpness in his words. He can’t help the way his body responds to Snape. It’s like all of the things that were cold have been suffused with warmth and he wants Snape to touch him again. He has to let that roll around in his head for a minute because he really, really does. He wants Snape’s long fingers on his skin and he wants _someone_ to hold him in the way he’s been craving since the war and has been completely unable to find.

Because Snape’s a miserable bastard that’s clearly planning to destroy Harry’s life by melting his brain as well as stripping away his last shred of righteous indignation, he seems to understand exactly what Harry wants. His fingers rub a very soothing and distracting pattern on Harry’s lower back. Harry’s legs feel like someone’s hit them with a jelly-leg jinx. 

“Not exactly.” Snape pauses. “I do not have the same faith in people – including myself – that others appear to.”

“You should work on that.” Harry can’t help his gaze from dropping to Snape’s lips and he wonders if he looks as flushed and eager as he feels. “Good people are worth believing in.”

“Maybe they are.” Snape’s gaze is dark and intense as he meets Harry’s eyes. “It is, however, a chance I am usually unwilling to take.”

“Why did you bother to say hello, then?” Harry turns away. “If you’re so unwilling.”

“ _Usually_ unwilling.” Snape takes a swig of his drink and doesn’t elaborate.

Harry looks around the dark space, with its magical lights and lets the music filtering around them thrum through his veins. A lot of the songs are unfamiliar but they’re as warm and light as the rainbow flag above the door. The magic which hums in the air feels colourful – the whole bar is a bright, cheerful space to bring jogging wizards in from the cold. Harry can’t really take in much more with Snape so close and the scent of spice and cinnamon making Harry’s head spin. He doesn’t really want to focus on other wizards, when Snape’s alive and turning Harry’s heart inside out with another one of his penetrating looks.

“How often do you come here?”

“Infrequently.” Snape pulls back and his lips press into a thin line although he doesn’t sound displeased. “Several times a year and every year since the war on the night before your birthday. A foolish hope, perhaps, that for once magic might align in my favour.”

Harry’s words catch in his throat. He thinks of those lonely nights in Grimmauld Place and the years of searching for something he never quite seemed to find. “I wish I could have found this place sooner.” What he really means is _you_. I wish I could have found _you_ sooner. 

Snape’s brow furrows and he contemplates his whiskey before taking a sip, savouring the taste. “I would have been thrown in Azkaban in the aftermath of the war before I was eventually exonerated. You had a grieving family to support, not to mention your own path to find.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve found it yet.” Harry thinks about his aimless running and his recent decision to take leave of the Ministry to work out his future. “If anything, I’m even more unsure what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Perhaps this is exactly where you ought to be.”

“In a bar with a rainbow flag above the door, drinking whiskey with my former professor?” Harry grins and Snape snorts with laughter.

“Exactly.”

Harry catches Snape’s wrist. He thumbs over the pulse point just to check that Severus really is alive. It jumps beneath his touch and Harry swallows back the wave of unexpected emotion which assaults him. “I didn’t exactly go jogging and then have a moment of realising _I’m gay_ and then hey presto, this bar appeared.”

“No.” Severus extracts his hand from Harry’s and he raises it, his thumb stroking over Harry’s jaw. “Yet here you are, nevertheless.”

“Here I am.” Harry huffs out a laugh. “Gay, apparently. You’d think someone might have told me.”

Snape leans closer. “If someone had?”

Harry can hardly breathe, Snape’s proximity making his head fuzzy. “I probably would have told them to naff off. I had lots of plans involving witches and an army of mini-Potters.”

Snape can’t quite hide his shudder at the idea of mini-Potters. “A noble ambition. What changed?”

Harry shrugs. “It turns out I don’t like kissing witches all that much, which made it difficult to get excited about the rest of it.”

“Ah.” Snape really is close. So, so close. “What is it that gets you excited, I wonder?”

“As if you need to ask.” Harry can’t help the nervous laughter which spills from his lips. The damp t-shirt makes him shiver and he presses as close as he can to Snape. “I’m bloody freezing.”

“Maybe we should get you home?” Snape slips his hand under Harry’s t-shirt. “Before you force me to make a spectacle of us both.”

Harry decides that he’s long overdue a bit of a spectacle and he captures Snape’s lips with his own. The kiss is slow and sensuous – heated and confident and _finally_ Harry understands what people mean when they talk about getting weak at the knees. It takes all his restraint to pull back before he can lose himself in the firm pressure of Snape’s lips and he necks the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.

“Your place or mine, Professor?”

“Mine.” Snape wraps his arms around Harry and the last thing Harry hears before the familiar tug of Apparation takes him away from the bar is, “I prefer Severus, if it’s all the same to you.”

*

There isn’t much time for looking around Snape’s home when they finally land with a thud in the middle of a cosy living room. Harry’s far too busy exploring Snape’s neck with his lips and pushing his hands under Snape’s jumper just to try to get some skin on skin contact. They stumble towards the sofa and Snape growls out a spell which widens the sofa before they collapse onto it. Harry feels a flush of pride at the fact Snape clearly can’t be bothered to make the journey upstairs either and he tugs off his t-shirt, helping Snape pull his jumper over his head before sinking into another deep kiss.

Snape knows what he’s doing – or at least it feels like he does – as he presses Harry down into the sofa and trails maddening kisses down the curve of his neck and along his collarbone. It’s all so good, it sends pleasure through Harry’s body and he’s never been happier to be in thin running shorts which allow him to get the most delicious friction as he rocks into Snape. He tries to shove his trainers off with his toes and ends up nearly kneeing Snape in the groin in the process.

“Potter.” Snape pulls back and pinches the bridge of his nose. His lips are plump and well-kissed and his pale cheeks have a dusky pink hue which Harry rather likes.

“What?” Harry glares at Snape – _Severus_ – and he gestures downwards. “I’m trying to take my trainers off. Also, if I’m going to call you Severus, you should probably call me Harry.”

“You’re a wretched child.” Severus’ lips curve and he shifts back on the sofa. “ _Harry_.” 

“Thanks.” Harry can’t quite believe that even Severus’ insults sound fond. He kicks at his trainers again and Severus lets out a huff. 

“Please tell me you have your wand.”

“No.” Harry’s cheeks heat. “I didn’t expect to be out for long and it makes my phone go weird if I keep it in my pocket. I like to listen to Muggle music.”

“You’re also one of the most famous wizards in the world. There are plenty of people who still wish you harm.” Severus points a finger at Harry, glaring at him. “No more jogging without your wand.”

“Fine.” Harry rolls his eyes but he can’t help the flush of pleasure at Severus wanting Harry to be safe. “Why don’t you get your wand out if you want to do magic?” Harry moves his eyebrows up and down and winks at Severus. He hopes it looks suggestive and seductive, instead of ridiculous. 

Severus mutters a curse under his breath and then extracts his wand, casting a quick spell which leaves them both naked. “Better?”

“ _Oh_.” Harry’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

“Now stop talking, when I’m trying to concentrate.” Severus pushes Harry back on the sofa.

“Concentrate on wh-aah!” Harry’s question gets cut off abruptly when Severus presses his mouth over Harry’s prick. He’s aching hard just from the kissing but he never expected the tight, wet heat of Severus’ mouth to feel so blissfully _good_. With a strangled sound which catches in his throat, Harry twists his fingers into Severus’ hair. Severus takes his time to wring every last bit of pleasure from Harry. He slides his mouth over Harry’s length and tongues at him, teasing him and driving him to the very brink of pleasure. It doesn’t take long for Harry to push up and make a garbled protest as he tugs on Severus’ hair. He’s a bit embarrassed by the speed of his orgasm and the force with which he jerks up into Severus’ throat. Severus doesn’t seem unduly concerned, pulling back when Harry’s orgasm finally stops pulsing through him.

Severus smooths his own hair and arches an eyebrow at Harry who blinks up at him.

“Sorry.” Harry waves his hand. “About the speed. The hair. I haven’t done that before.”

“Indeed.” Severus can’t quite hide his smile, although he seems to be fighting against it. “I appreciate you like to do everything by force but perhaps less…yanking.” 

“Okay.” Embarrassment swoops through Harry and Severus mutters something under his breath.

“Foolish boy.” Severus slides Harry’s glasses off and drops them on the floor, settling in for a kiss. He tastes salty and it makes Harry groan, rocking up into him again as his spent prick twitches with hopeful enthusiasm. “Foolish, foolish boy.”

“You can’t say things like that on my birthday.” Harry smiles against Severus’ lips and he trails his hand down Severus’ chest, giving one of his nipples an experimental tweak. It makes Severus curse and bite down on Harry’s neck with a low growl. “Can I do you now?”

Severus clears his throat. He slides his hand lower, beneath Harry’s backside. He looks at him with the same dark gaze he gave Harry in the bar. “Unless you wish to try something different?”

Harry swallows, the heat of Severus against his thigh hard and thick. He would like to try something different. Very much. His heart skips and he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Severus frowns and he studies Harry closely. “You’re quite certain?”

Harry smiles at Severus. “Yeah. Quite certain.” He wiggles back into Severus’ hand and pillows his head in his hands. “How do you want me?”

“Just…like this.” Severus sucks in a breath. His eyes travelling over Harry’s body feel almost as good as the earlier path left by his tongue and his lips.

“Okay.” The air in the room feels thicker than before. Harry’s never been nervous about sex. He just hasn’t found the thought particularly appealing before now. Now it seems to matter more than it once did. Maybe that’s down to Severus, rather than the sex. Harry just knows that something in him trembles when he looks at Severus. It’s still like looking at a ghost. As if he’s going to reach for Severus and find his hands clutching at air. He pushes the thought to one side and lets himself soak up the path of Severus’ eyes as they roam over his skin. “Like this, then.”

“Very well.” Severus flicks his wand and murmurs a quick spell. He uncorks the jar which lands in his outstretched hand and he slicks his fingers. Harry closes his eyes and lets out a sigh when Severus slides his fingers through the cleft of Harry’s backside. He takes his time with Harry, teasing him with his maddening touch until pleas spill from Harry’s lips. With a steady motion, Severus slides a finger into Harry. Severus’ hands are firm and sure as he arranges them so he can get the best access. 

“That’s…” Harry’s breath leaves him with a gasp and he can’t keep his hand still. He grips Severus’ shoulders, running his hands over every knob and bump, tracing the pale skin with the pads of his fingers.

“You are truly…” Severus’ voice breaks off and he ducks his head to press kisses across Harry’s chest. He strokes his fingers into Harry, pushing deep inside until the sensations he ignites make it feels like he’s pressing directly against the hottest parts of Harry’s body and sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.

“Oh Merlin.” Harry lets himself become accustomed to the unfamiliar stretch and burn, pushing back against Severus. It’s so good, but it’s a lot. He can hardly breathe and he feels too tense to fully appreciate the moment. He can’t imagine how Severus is going to fit inside him, the heavy weight of his cock still pushing insistently against Harry’s skin. “Just do it. Do it, I want you to.”

Severus sighs and he slides his fingers from Harry. “On your side.” 

“Okay.” Harry rolls onto his side and tries to control the way he shivers as Severus settles behind him. He braces himself for the stretch, but Severus doesn’t push into Harry’s body. Instead he nestles behind him and strokes his fingers over Harry’s chest and down his stomach. He spends his time kissing Harry’s neck and finding the bits of Harry’s skin that flame with every twist and slide of Severus’ fingers. “Oh, _Merlin_.” This time Harry’s voice is eager instead of fractured and nervous.

“Relax, Harry.” Severus lets Harry shift awkwardly so they can press their lips together briefly. “There’s no rush. No rush.”

“I…know.” Still, Harry can’t let go of the feeling that Severus is something fleeting. He wonders about the bar that’s only just appeared and wonders if it will be gone as quickly as it arrived just when Harry least expected it. He closes his eyes and lets Severus’ talented hand slide over his cock as Severus keeps Harry close. He’s close enough that Harry can feel Severus pushing against his backside. It makes Harry hot all over and he rocks back against Severus, making them both moan. Severus nudges Harry over onto his back again after a while, sliding his fingers deep inside Harry after adding more lube. This time it seems easier – Harry is more relaxed than he was and lost in the delicious sensations Severus’ touch generates. He trusts Severus. Trusts that he knows what he’s doing. Trusts the careful way he lets Harry take the moments he needs and the way he seems to intuitively understand when it’s too much, too close or too unfamiliar. “Will you?” Harry’s words leave him with a gasp as Severus pulls more pleasure from his body.

“If you wish.” Severus slicks his cock and he keeps his focus on Harry’s face. The look in his eyes is fierce and protective and Harry wants Severus to look at him like that all the time. “Do you wish to face me?”

“Yes. Yes, please.” Harry reaches for Severus, who slides a hand between them with Harry’s legs over his shoulders and gets the right angle. He pushes into Harry, a series of slow nudges and then a harder push which leaves Severus fully seated. They both have difficulty controlling their breathing and the beads of perspiration on Harry's forehead, the burn in his backside and the strange stretch makes him want to push back and stop. “Severus…”

“Do you want me to stop?” Severus is sweating lightly too, a sheen on his forehead. He doesn't move as he runs a finger along Harry's cheek and Harry shakes his head.

"No, just move. Please."

"Relax. I promise, it will..." Severus trails off as he pushes Harry’s legs back against his chest and _slides_. The painstaking preparation and the generous amounts of lube make the movement easier and it's unexpectedly good enough to make Harry suck in a sharp breath. The thrusts are invasive and different but there’s something about it that makes Harry feel safe. If he closes his eyes he imagines he can see rainbows and the music from the bar rings in his ears. Severus kisses him and pulls back a little, arranging Harry’s legs so he can thrust deeper and harder and the angle this time is _perfect_. With a groan, Harry slides his hand over his aching cock and opens his eyes to see Severus watching him with a look on his face as if there’s something painful about looking at Harry. The way his lips try to form unvoiced words brings Harry over the edge. He clenches around Severus as the orgasm takes him utterly by surprise, ripping through him. It takes Severus a few more quick thrusts and then he reaches his climax, slipping carefully from Harry. 

The silence in the room is broken only by the sound of the ticking clock and the rustle as Severus shifts to stretch out beside Harry.

“I’ll feel that tomorrow.” Harry’s voice is thick and he pushes his feet against Severus. Everything hurts, but in the best possible way.

“I have a potion, if you wish-”

“No. No potions. I like it.” It occurs to Harry that Severus might not want him to stay and the thought makes his chest tight. “Do you need me to get going?”

Severus frowns. “Do you wish to leave?”

“Not really.” Harry gives Severus a slow smile. He grabs his glasses and shoves them back on so he can see Severus properly. He touches the scar tissue on Severus’ neck, just brushing it lightly with his fingers. “There’s still a lot of birthday to go yet. If you’ve been waiting all those years you must have stored up a few presents.”

“One or two.” Severus relaxes imperceptibly. He narrows his eyes and contemplates Harry, pink spots blooming in his cheeks. “I expect it would take longer than twenty-four hours to give you all of the things I wish.”

The way Severus says that sounds both utterly filthy and full of unexpected promise. It makes everything in the room warm. Harry leans forward to kiss Severus. It’s not as urgent as before but there’s no less confidence behind it – the slow slide of their lips together managing to communicate the desire that words can’t seem to manage in the still room full of their history and hope for the future.

“Maybe it doesn’t just have to be for birthdays?” Harry pulls back and runs his fingers through the hair on Severus’ chest. There’s a tattoo which looks like a phoenix and it makes Harry’s heart swell. “Maybe it could be other times, too.”

“I think that sounds…acceptable.” Severus clears his throat. “Not to mention you owe me a drink. A drink and dinner.”

“I do, don’t I?” Harry laughs. He pokes Severus in the stomach and it earns him a swat on the backside. “Do you reckon I’ll find that bar again?”

Severus nods. “I think once you know where to look for it, it’s always going to be there.”

Harry rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. “I’d like to go again with you, maybe.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” Severus brushes Harry’s hair from his face as he tips his head to look into Severus’ eyes.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to slip through my fingers?” Harry whispers. He swallows thickly. “Everything disappears. That bar might not be there tomorrow. People I love. All those things I thought I’d have after the war.”

“What did you think you would find afterwards?” Severus studies Harry closely.

“I don’t know.” Harry’s throat aches and a wave of unexpected sadness leaves his eyes burning. “I thought I'd be an Auror. I thought I'd have a family.”

“Ah.” Severus brings Harry’s hand to his lips and he kisses his fingers. It’s unexpectedly sweet and tender and if Severus isn’t careful he’s going to have Harry bawling. “It may not look as you expected, but you can have a family of sorts. If you desire.”

Harry sees the way Severus’ brow furrows and he wants to kiss away the lines. Even though his body aches and he doesn’t think he could come again, he wants to spend his time exploring Severus. He wants to taste every line and run his tongue over every scar. He wants to find those spots nobody else knows about that make Severus come apart just as he let Harry lose himself in blissful moments of white-hot pleasure. He tries to imagine himself on the sofa, with Severus sitting on the well-worn armchair just across the room and it doesn’t feel like a hazy dream anymore. There are no more faceless shadows and he can finally give his fantasies a name. He can say the things he’s wondered about out loud and they don’t make him want to run anymore. He wants to feel the sun on his back and stretch out underneath the heat of summer sunsets with Severus by his side. It’s no longer an impossible dream which requires resurrecting ghosts from the past. 

“Severus?”

“Hmm?”

“I think sometimes our happy endings might not be the ones we thought they’d be, but that doesn’t make them any less happy, does it?”

“Not in the slightest.” Severus strokes his hand over Harry’s chest and a slow, deep arousal and need flares within Harry’s stomach even though he doesn’t think he can physically respond to the touch. “I have learned not to believe in happy endings, in any event.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns and he props himself on his elbow to look at Severus. “I think I’m going to need you to start. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I imagine I can shoulder the burden of yet more responsibility, Potter.” Severus’ lips quirk and Harry knows he’s being teased. “I simply prefer not to think of endings at all. I think we’ve both seen too many of those.”

Harry nods and he kisses Severus’ jaw. “Thanks for coming back to life on my birthday.”

“I’d say you’re welcome, but I fear I make a rather woeful present. I also don’t want to encourage any foolish notions of wrapping me up like a parcel at any point in the future.”

“You could wrap me up.” Harry leers and it makes Severus roll his eyes. “By wrap, I mean tie. You can do that, if you like.”

“Duly noted.” Severus strokes his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “I may have taken the liberty of purchasing a little something just on the off-chance. It has been waiting for you for several years. You can open it in the morning, if you wish.”

“You did?” A jolt of pleasure makes Harry beam. “How did you know I was going to turn up at that bar?”

“I didn’t.” Severus pulls Harry into a kiss. “I may have spoken to the portrait of the Headmaster shortly before I went into hiding. He convinced me that in this particular instance I should be willing to take a chance.”

Harry presses his lips to the phoenix on Severus’ chest. “I’m glad you did.”

“As am I.”

Harry moves to stretch out, pressing his head to Severus’ chest. “If you need any ideas for presents for future birthdays I reckon I could come up with a few.”

“I have no doubt.” Severus cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and gives it a light tug. “Insatiable brat.”

“Apparently so. Who would have thought?”

“In that, too, I had every confidence.” Severus mutters a spell and blankets drop over them, making every inch of Harry warm and comfortable. Harry’s just about drifting off when Severus jolts him back from the brink of sleep by clearing his throat. “Promise me…promise me, you will not run without your wand.”

“Yeah.” Harry pulls the blankets around them both more tightly. “I’ll take it with me but you’re going to need to help me work out the music thing.”

“I can tell you’re going to be endless trouble,” Severus says.

Harry hides his smile in Severus’ chest, because really Severus couldn’t sound more pleased.

He thinks he hears Severus whisper _happy birthday, Harry_ but he can’t be sure so he puts that down to one of the first of many very good dreams.

*

Five birthdays in, they have a lazy morning in bed fighting off a hangover after a night of enthusiastic dancing (Harry) and reluctant participation (Severus) at the bar with the rainbow flags above the door and Harry tells Severus about the best birthday present he ever had.

Because it was the best present. Even better than the sex and the leather bracelet with the phoenix charm Harry still refuses to take off. He can still remember the way his stomach swooped when he woke up to a Severus who was very much alive, grumbling about Harry being a terrible duvet thief and as wriggly as an eel during the night.

Severus mutters that nothing’s changed in that regard and says it’s a wonder he sleeps at all. 

Harry apologises by blowing Severus and making him tea and toast in bed.

Severus even manages not to complain about the crumbs. 

It is Harry’s birthday, after all.

_~Fin~_


End file.
